We spent a long weekend in Thendara, taking a look around the western fringe of the Adirondacks to get a feel for the upcoming Rockclimbers’ Festival that takes place the Friday through Sunday, after Labor Day, September 8 – 10 this year. Here’s our take on this corner of the park.

Driving southwest on Route 28, we drove through the bustling tourist centers of Inlet, Eagle Bay, Old Forge, and finally Thendara, where on the far outskirts of town, we pulled into Mountainman Outdoor Center’s Gear Store parking lot. I met Mike B., one of two Mikes managing affairs at this busy boat and gear retailer. Mike showed me around the complex, pointing out where we would meet and congregate during the Festival.

The Mountainman Outdoor Center’s Rental Shop

And it certainly looks great. We will have a seat next to a put-in on a lovely still stretch of the Moose River. If it rains, we have a roof over our heads a few feet from the grill, and according to Mike, a giant Jenga set and Corn Hole game to keep us occupied while we hang out.

The Hang Out Area, behind the Rental Shop

Launch a kayak right beside the grill!

I also met Doug, who is the driving force behind the shop’s rising interest in climbing. Doug recently rediscovered the Flatrock crag, and has been gradually reclaiming it from the moss, lichen, and other growth that inevitably coats any shaded rock on the western side of the park. We made plans to look over the sights at that crag before I headed home, then I said good-bye and headed out on another necessary task.

Fearless Doug, the driving force for climbing at Mountainman

Eagle Falls, Queen of the West

First glimpse of the cliffs at Eagle Falls

By far, the best climbing on the western edge of the Adirondacks is at Eagle Falls. If you’ve never been, this is one place not to be missed. It is however, easy to miss: tucked away in a remote location, it’s a full hour’s drive from Thendara. Once you’ve negotiated the drive, the approach is short, but it has its own challenges.

Start of Eagle Falls ApproachTrail

The Infamous Plank at Eagle Falls

There is a plank (actually, two of them) that must be crossed to reach the cliff. That board crosses a narrow point in a rapid popular with kayakers, so it must be pulled after crossing. I’m told that there will be kayaking going on during the weekend of the festival, so that board may not be available.

The Tyrolean Anchor

There is now another option: a Tyrolean traverse has been installed, so climbers can make the crossing via that avenue. If you don’t know how to manage that feat, the Festival may be your best chance to learn, since there will probably be plenty of people on hand doing it.

Looking downstream at the crossing options: Tyrolean Traverse or the Plank

We did not have a chance to climb at the crag on our visit; time was short. We drove back to Thendara via the “paved” route, which runs west, south, and back northeast to town; and coincidentally takes at least as long and is just as complex. Its major redeeming factor is that most of the driving is on decent paved roads.

Another view of Eagle Falls’ Cliff

The rest of our first night involved checking in to our hotel, the Van Aukens Inne, and settling down on their porch to hear the Castle Creek Band slam some fantastic bluesy rock into the evening air. Kim, John, Nate, and Phil are superlative, well worth a listen.

Castle Creek Band Jamming on the porch of the Van Aukens Inne

Day 2: Middle Settlement Lake

Looking out over Middle Settlement Lake

For those unwilling to drive an hour to Eagle Falls, there are a few closer crags. Middle Settlement Lake has the closest trailhead from the Mountainman Outdoor Center, at a little less than 5 miles away.

Trailhead to Middle Settlement Lake lies about 4 miles south of Thendara

We drove the short distance from town to the trailhead. Across the street is a large parking area, so there should be no trouble with that part of the trip. The hike takes about an hour and a half, but isn’t difficult. The steepest part lies at the very beginning, as the trail ascends a moderate grade to a rocky ridge before entering the upland forest. From that point on, it is level or mild ups and downs all the way to the lake.

One of the short, stout routes at Middle Settlement Lake

Once there, expect some challenging, short climbs. There are a couple easy routes, one of which I climbed while there, Amanita Muscaria, but the majority of routes are 5.8 to 5.11, and require passing through large overhangs to reach the top. None of these routes is long, sixty feet tops, with most being 40’ or so; but they all look stout.

Another set of hard looking climbs at Middle Settlement Lake

Beneath the cliffs, boulders abound, recently developed by Dave Buzzelli, aka Buzz. I’m not a boulderer, but I’m told there are some classic lines on the rocks around the lake.

Yet more rock to drool over!

I returned to the parking lot within four hours of leaving; adding four hours of climbing (on top of the one I did) would make a good full day. It would take a strong party to check off all the routes at this small cliff in one day, but it could be done.

And still more cliff pics from Middle Settlement Lake

My next stop was Flatrock Crag. Doug, Mike, and two more Mountainman crewmembers, Brittany and Matt, showed me around the place. The approach is trivial: moments from the car, one runs into a small cliff band.

The Mountainman Gang heading in to Flatrock’s Little Cliff

The frequent rain over the past few days (much like this entire summer) unfortunately precluded getting on any rock in the vicinity where the gang has been cleaning. We would spend a little time attempting to top-rope a 30’ arête about a hundred yards to the right without any success.

Our 1 TR attempted. That’s Mike B posing in front.

Whether this is an established line or not is hard to say from the descriptions in the book. While the cliff is quite long, it is very short; 35’ is probably its lengthiest. Currently it is very, very dirty. The cliff is completely shaded and faces northwest, so it doesn’t see any sun, and there appears to be plenty of moisture seeping from the top this year. Doug is determined to reclaim this cliff from the encroaching vegetation, and may be able to get it ready in time for the Festival. If so, this will be an excellent place to unwind for any climbers who have a couple hours to finish the day. It is only four miles from Thendara, and as already pointed out, moments from the road.

Update: The cliffs I saw are NOT the documented Flatrock ones. They lie slightly farther southwest of the part I visited.

Day 3: Alternative Entertainment and Bald Mountain

OK, we took some time off from cliff-inspection to stop and smell the “roses”

On Monday morning, we checked out of our hotel, ate a huge breakfast, and stopped by one more time at Mountainman Outdoor Center. We decided to rent kayaks and paddle awhile on the Moose, so for two hours we enjoyed the sunshine as we wound up the undulating river to the base of Indian Rapids and back again. I hoped to find a secret boulder or cliff, but alas, no such luck. Who knows though? The Moose River meanders through a huge floodplain; anything could be hidden within it.

A great diversion from cliff-hounding!

Is there a secret mega-boulder stashed somewhere along the Moose’s Shores?

Returning our kayaks, we said good-bye to the Mountainman staff and began driving back eastward; but before leaving the area, I had one more crag to look over.

Bald Mountain

Some of the potential on Bald Mountain. There are no routes breaking through these overhangs.

I’ve climbed at Bald Mountain before, and if there is a premiere cliff close to the Festival, this is it. Many of the routes suffer the typical problem of fast and furious moss and crud accumulation this region is prone to, but my inspection revealed that someone has been taking care of a few of the climbs toward the far right end of the main climbing area.

ZigZag is in good shape

Some of the nicest looking cracks are in good shape, including King Crack and Cardiac Corner, the two stellar 5.9 routes on the main wall. ZigZag and Where’s the Booty? Are both in decent shape. Finally, there is the four-star route Branches running up the face toward the left end; no one should skip this stout 5.6 line. I spent some time playing around at its base before finally conceding that it was time to go home.

The base of Branches, Bald Mountain’s four-star route

Access to Bald is via a short walk on a private road to reach the herd path. Do not go beyond the herd path!

Keep in mind that the access to Bald Mountain runs up a private access road. Walk it only as far as the property line posted signs, which begin just beyond a large double “bald spot” of rock in the road. At that point head right, into the woods along a herd path that parallels the boundary.

Plenty of parking across Route 28 by Hollywood Road

Do NOT park on that road; there is ample parking in a pull-off across Route 28, by the intersection of Hollywood Road. The far left side of the cliff lies on private property, so climb only on the State Land side, to the right as you reach the trail.

The herd path runs along the boundary. Please don’t trespass. Don’t climb on the private land (climber’s left) of the boundary.

So there you have it: our first look at the climbing around the Old Forge area. While the best climbing lies an hour from our host’s base, it is still a reasonable day trip, and one that should be taken if you haven’t yet been to Eagle Falls. For those who want to stay closer and do long technical routes, Bald Mountain is the obvious choice. For those who want close to the road, let’s hope the gang can clean enough of Flatrock to make it a fun place to wall-crawl. I hope to head out that way again soon and get a good view of the bouldering possibilities around town, and possibly find that mysterious new crag lying on the banks of the Moose River. You never know.

Having just pushed over 700’ of ice climbing each of the two previous days, I still couldn’t pass up heading to the Jammer Wall on such a nice day as I awoke to on Wednesday. Calling Tom, we arranged to meet up there. I would provide the rope, he the rack. Racing through a minor amount of housework, I was soon on my way.

I had used snowshoes on my previous visit, but after a trial step or two, felt my broken trail would support my weight without them this morning. I risked leaving them in the car and set off, using only micro-spikes for traction. It turned out to be a good decision; my previous passage was firm enough to stay on top of, with only perhaps a dozen post-hole events on the entire walk up. I did have to stomp a trail the final few feet along the ledge below the Jammer Wall, as I’d not gone that way on my first trip. It took perhaps fifteen extra minutes to reach the base of my destination crag.

I climbed this ice the last time I visited it; a few days later it all lays on the ground

I noticed during my approach that someone has visited the area since I broke trail Saturday. Apparently, the rock-climbing bug is causing an itch in more than a few of us. They did not go across the ledge below the Jammer Wall, so I presume their climbing was limited to On the Fence and perhaps Stand Your Ground. I’d love to know who was hungry enough to make that arduous trek in deep snow to this crag!

The view from part way up Provando’s third pitch

I began by soling up Provando’s third pitch, trailing the rope. At the top, I set a TR with each end directed to a different route; the left over Provando Direct, the right over Reproof. With time to kill, I stomped out platforms by these routes as well as reestablishing the path to Stand Your Ground around the corner.

Tom scopes the crux holds of Reproof

I did not have to wait long before Tom joined me at the Jammer Wall ledge. It was so warm we were both in short sleeves, with a bright sun fast wasting away the ice and snow around us. Without delay, we both took turns on the routes ready to climb.

We had to take the left option midway up Reproof; the “normal” way was wet

I made my way up the second line after Tom, and shifted the anchor to the right so we could both do Firecracker. The route’s upper crack was dibbling wet, so we both climbed the dry face to the right of it, working around a wee bit of moisture at the top-out.

Tom in the middle of the crux: changing shoes at the base of the route!

Finishing that, we both felt warmed up enough to tackle a lead. Tom led up Stand Your Ground, making his way without difficulty up the crack to its end, passing the bolts on the crux face moves, and reaching the ledge below the fixed anchor easily. As he did so, I heard a hushed clattering above us. A large rock tumbled into view, almost silently hurtling toward us. I could see its trajectory would take it about fifteen feet to our left, so for an instant it was not a concern. But it crashed into the oak tree on the mid ledge of Provando, deflecting toward us. For another instant, I thought one of us would be killed, but the oak tree I leaned against saved us; the rock bounced off a stout limb and continued hurtling outward and down the mountain. Once again we were reminded of how dangerous this mountain truly can be.

I follow Tom’s lead of Stand Your Ground

Without further incident, I followed, then came down and prepared to lead Action Steps. As I began ascending this route, another crashing noise drew our attention. An ice avalanche came crashing down the left side of the Amendment Wall a hundred feet or so to our left. Had we been standing there, or crossing the access path under it, we would have been injured or killed; yet more evidence of the alpine hazards that exist even on small mountains such as Crane.

Tom cleans Action Steps

The sun had passed behind Crane’s shoulder, and the temperature was dropping quickly. With that cooling came less risk crossing the open area below the Amendment Wall; that and our fatigue bade us end the day. We slipped and slid our way down the chute off the Jammer Ledge, across the Provando Ledge, clambered over the avalanche debris beneath First Amendment, and slithered down to the East Path, then out of the woods to our cars. It was shortly past 5pm, so we had made a decent day of it. Weary from five days’ activity, I holed up in my house for the rest of the night.

Day One

With a forecast spelling doom for North Country’s ice season, JB’s second day out options were limited. The remaining reliable sanctuaries of ice left in the Adirondacks would be busy places this day, so we had to decide where to go and get there early. JB’s choice: Pitchoff North.

A 7am pickup in Warrensburg meant a reasonably early arrival at the parking area for our destination, and as luck would have it, ours was the first car in the lot. Not for long: before we were packed up, another vehicle pulled in. Still, we were on our way before the next party geared up.

For those who don’t know, the approach to Pitchoff North involves a fifteen minute walk along the Jackrabbit Ski trail. Snowshoes (or skis) are a must here; negligent ice climbers have been – and should be – severely penalized for transgressing this dictum, as it breeds bad blood between those who maintain the trail and we who just use it for our own nefarious purpose. I’ve seen many climbers post-holing their way along this thoroughfare without regard for others, including guided groups; to me, this is a mark of shame on our profession and the ice climbing population in general. It’s a simple thing to throw on a pair of snowshoes; do it.

For much of the day the ice routes of Pitchoff North are in shadow while the rest of the world enjoys sunshine

The final leg of the approach to the most popular side of the canyon is a steep slog uphill to the first flows, Tendonitis and Arm & Hammer. I’ve been here a couple times before, close to a decade ago. I came away with a negative impression. The place is a cold, windy, dark, and steep mountainside; I recall freezing my butt off belaying or awaiting my turn to climb. On both occasions we climbed Central Pillar of Pitchoff, a difficult (grade 4) and crowded destination. Because of these earlier visits, I was none too enthused about returning here. But today would be different.

It was still cold, though nowhere near what I recall from earlier times. There was a breeze, cold enough to chill as we stood still, but not terribly bad. And it was still a dark place; sunlight did not strike the side of the mountain until the last hours of the day. We ended up staying for every speck of that daylight, and I did get to see the beauty of the place when it does finally get some sunshine. These factors added to the routes JB chose for us equaled one of the top ten days of ice climbing I’ve ever had. Perhaps it is the company: recalling some of those “best” days, I realize JB was in on at least two others.

The one huge negative factor to this day was what we found at the top of the climber’s approach trail. Here, that trail ended. JB’s first route on the itinerary lay a ten minute walk to climber’s left (ENE). Ten minutes, that is, if the trail is broken. It was not. We began an hour-long slog across the mountainside, plunging hip-deep at times as we struggled up and down each gully, backtracking once or twice as our path reached dead-end drops. At this point, I thought this was going to be another “perseverance” day at Pitchoff; I wasn’t expecting a lot of fun.

Gearing up at the base of Screw & Climbaxe

But finally, we stood below the start of Screw and Climbaxe, the most infamous climb on the mountain, not only for its racy name, but for its sketchy initial pitch. Plenty of climbers have perspired their way up it, nary a screw-placement in sight, and a few have taken huge falls, suffering severe injury on this two-hundred-plus foot run up thinly iced steep slab.

JB handed me the reins for this one. I began by climbing up verglas along the right edge of a block leaning against the main slab, diagonaling right between two cedar seedlings to gain another right-facing rock rib, this one bounded by thicker ice in the corner. Here, I sunk a 10cm screw, clambered easily to the top of the rock, and paused to catch my breath before running up the meat of the pitch. The ice was thick enough above this to take short screws, so I didn’t have to sweat much during the rest of the climb. I was wearing a pair of stiff hiking boots with mountaineering crampons, so it was challenging all the same. I was toasty warm when I finally reached trees on the right verge of the flow, especially since JB had to simul-climb a short way so I could do so.

JB leads out on the final pitch of Screw & Climbaxe

I soon cooled down, belaying JB up as a chill breeze began to whisper across the shadowed slopes. But planning for this, I had donned my puffy, and so stayed reasonably comfortable until JB joined me and began leading the final pitch. This was much steeper, beginning as a short grade three step to a final vertical headwall. JB chose the shortest section of ice, but still had a lot of thinking and preparation to do before launching up the grade 4- finish. I followed with difficulty, having cooled off a bit too much at the belay stance, and suffering slightly from inadequate footwear. This terrain calls for rigid boots and crampons, neither of which I wore.

Heading down after finishing Screw & Climbaxe

We stood on the top for a few minutes, clad in our warmest clothes, admiring the view, until stirred to move again. The rappel requires double ropes for both pitches; the upper pitch is over 140’ long, and the lower is, as mentioned, over 200’.

The Bomb Zone, where ice smashes everything, at the base of Screw & Climbaxe

At the base, we chatted with some passersby, who thanked us for breaking trail before pioneering onward themselves toward their destination farther left. We packed up and headed back the way we’d come in, this time only about five minutes, to the base of Weeping Winds.

Some of the frozen scenery on Weeping Winds

JB has led this numerous times – hearing him talk about it I’m inclined to think it is one of his favorite ice routes – so he let me lead away on this one. The first pitch is an easy grade 2, depending on how one chooses to tackle it. It is a very wide swath of ice, so there are a couple solid 2 options along it, with possible a grade 3 line toward the right side. I chose to start at the lowest fat ice, then head up and right of a line of shrubbery dividing the flow into a narrow, steeper left strip and a broad, sweeping main section. Soon, I was out of rope for the second time today. JB had to climb up a fair distance in order for me to go left and reach a belay among that shrubbery. It was tight, but would protect the belayer from missiles coming down the steepening face above.

I pulled out my puffy sack to gain insulation while belaying, but bobbled the job, and watched despairingly as it rolled its way gradually through the screen of bushes below me, gained open ice, and continued downward. I yelled to JB, who watched it helplessly pass by and continue tumbling into the woods far below. Fortunately, JB made good time up the pitch, and given the shrubbery surrounding the belay, I was out of the wind. The sun had peeked around enough to warm me enough to make the time pass without misery.

After JB joined me, with a bit of jostling to make room and arrange ourselves and our ropes adequately, I headed up again. My intention was to cut a diagonal line across the ice above, taking a right-rising grade 3- ramp up to the final step, then continue rightward and up across that steep wall. However, at the end of the ramp, my legs and arms were beginning to cramp badly enough that launching out across a near-vertical ice wall seemed unwise. The screws we had were abominably dull, as JB had discovered on his lead. We had one good screw, so every placement required using it to make a starter hole, taking it out, and then placing one of the dull ones; effectively doing two leads and one clean for each placement. With my flexible footwear, the strain of standing in place while performing this task was incredible.

Sunset glowing off the ice on Weeping Winds

I averred the original plan, instead taking a prominent buttress on the edge of the main face, which was still a grade 3+ route to the refuge of a ledge one step below a large moat supplying the entire face below with water. There, a small birch tree sporting a single loop of ragged nylon offered a reasonable belay stance. I brought up JB in waning daylight. Above us, a third pitch beckoned, but the lowering sun advised differently. We used a clump of birch saplings beside us to retreat, reaching a fixed belay around another birch as the sun sank to the horizon. It had warmed considerably during my last lead (or perhaps I had warmed up a lot), but with the sunset, the warmth faded. We made the last rappel, packed up, then began the arduous job of snowshoeing straight down to find and fetch my errant puffy. Successful at this task, we continued descending directly (with much difficulty) to the eastern edge of the beaver pond, where a few more steps led us to the Jackrabbit Trail. In starlight, we made the as-usual lengthened exit along that easy path back to JB’s car, reaching it at 630pm, twelve hours after I’d left home, a weary, but happy soul.

Looking down at the Bomb Zone around Weeping Winds

My original estimation of Pitchoff North couldn’t be more wrong. It is cold, it is dark, and it can be a horrible slog if the trail to one’s chosen route is not broken. But in the right conditions, when the mercury isn’t deep in the bowels of your thermometer and the wind isn’t howling, the climbs here are wonderful. I cannot speak for North Pillar of Pitchoff, my earlier impressions haven’t been revised by revisiting it; but the two routes we did this day fully deserve their place as Adirondack classics.

Sunset near the base of Weeping Winds

Day Two

Plans had been made to climb with Steve O., originally both Monday and Tuesday, but with JB’s schedule necessitating Monday, I’d shifted to one day with Steve, who had spent the previous day at Hoffman Notch. We had planned going there, but he reported poor conditions, with most routes out or nearly so. I suggested returning to Pitchoff North, very enthusiastic about conditions and climbing there.

So it was that at about the same time, we found ourselves pulling into the parking lot I’d left a bit more than half a day ago. We were the second car this time, soon to be followed by two more, and more after that, I’m certain. The walk along the Jackrabbit Trail wasn’t as easy this morning; its condition was no worse, but mine was. I’d felt fine on the drive up, but a short distance into the walk clearly indicated my body was past its freshness date. Short of leaving Steve in the lurch however, there was nothing for it but to persevere. He had to be patient as I panted and paused my way to and up the approach path. At least the way beyond was broken this time. We made our way without difficulty to the base of Weeping Winds. Steve has been to the area before, but had not done this route; I figured he could lead the entire thing, giving him a chance to climb something new and me a chance to taste that last upper pitch.

Steve sets out on Weeping Winds

This we did without a hitch. Steve led the first pitch easily, and belayed in the same spot I used yesterday. Meanwhile, another pair came in and took the leftmost ribbon of ice, a steeper, more appealing line than ours, but also harder. Neither of us had felt the urge to push our limits today, so we were pleased to see others avail the open slot. Trevor led to his rope’s end; his follower Keith climbed a bit to enable him to reach a cramped but sheltered belay in the trees on the left verge while I followed Steve up the first pitch. As Steve launched into the second pitch, Trevor climbed parallel to us, running up a steep ramp with a little bit of rock in the left corner. As I couldn’t see Steve well through the branches of our little belay niche, I snapped pictures of Trevor instead.

Our neighbor Trevor tackles Weeping Winds’ left side flow

Steve opted for the same path I’d taken yesterday, the ice buttress on the left edge of the main headwall. Meeting him at the belay, he was all smiles, declaring this the hardest ice lead he’d done. We took in the scenery, and mulled over the difficulties our neighbors were having. I’d mistakenly told them they could reach the ledge with one rope length; in fact the left flow is much taller than the right side. They had to simul-climb quite a bit, on steep ice, to gain the trees. Fortunately, they were both very capable climbers, and very forgiving as well.

Steve Sets out on pitch 3 of Weeping Winds

Steve led that last pitch, which was easy, perhaps barely nudging into grade 3, but probably not. It was however, lovely climbing, far up the mountain, and well worth the anticipated ascent. I followed, we gawked at the scenery some more, I snapped lots of pictures, and we began the rappels.

Steve at the top belay of Weeping Winds

Reaching the ground, we ate lunch and discussed our options. Both of us felt that, if we had to quit now, we would still be happy. But the day was young, it was much warmer than yesterday, and we were not worn out. Somehow, we both had acquired a second wind, so we decided to head back along the trail and see if any of the routes thereabouts were open.

Heading down from the top of Weeping Winds

I did not know the names of these routes, but the leftmost of the three near the approach trails initial highpoint was taken, as it turns out by a crew Steve had climbed with at Hoffman the day before. They informed us that they were climbing Moss Ghyll, so we moved around a rock rib to the next flow. Steve led this line, which had a short vertical step to begin, some pleasant 3- rolling ice after that, leading up to a longer, near-vertical 3+ finish. The ice here was hero-sticking soft, so neither of us had trouble making the top. I did have to trail our second rope; the pitch is at least 150’ long.

Steve sets out on Tendonitis

Once more, we considered calling it a day. But the route to the right was sooo tempting. Grade 2 or easy grade 3 ice led to a 20’ vertical face, which could be flanked on the right to keep the grade down. In the midst of the steep wall, a large cedar had split a crevice in the face, offering possible refuge up that strenuous line. With soft ice beckoning me, I decided to give it a go. My heart rate rose as I reached the base of the vertical wall. My bravado of a few minutes ago dissipated, making that rightward escape seem awfully attractive. But the hope I had in that crevice below the cedar, and the warm, soft ice, finally urged me on. I chipped a little starter hole, plugged a screw in above my head, and began ascending the vertical wall just right of the slot I relied on. I placed another screw before reaching the crevice, then sprinted toward it. It did indeed give me a good rest stance, though a cramped one. I thrust my left leg into it and braced, secure enough despite being unable to get a good left tool stick in the limited room of the crevice. My right tool was firmly embedded two-thirds up the pick on the face to the right, my right foot well-placed on the edge of my refuge; so I was able to shake out, and place another screw at head height. Taking time to regain some composure, I then slid out right onto vertical terrain. Placing one more screw while I hung on tools, I was able to reach a large, level ledge beside the cedar that had so helpfully split the flow. Looking past it, I saw the flow continued upward. Most of it was old, pegged=out ice, but one bulge shone silvery-wet with newer accumulation. Like any creature, I was drawn to the shiny stuff. Tired as I was, it was a good thing the rest of the route was easy. I reached the top of the new ice, fought through a brief screen of cedar shrubs, onto a final ice platform, and finally moved right and up to a fixed anchor.

Steve joined me at the top of the route, shaking his head that I had spent so much of the day whining about how tired I was and yet doing something like this to finish off the outing. He was right; I have no idea where that final burst of energy came from.

Steve near the top of Tendonitis

But I’m glad it came when it did. With the forecast calling for 60°F days ahead, even the ice in this shadowy nook of the Adirondacks is going to be suspect. If this day had to be the end of our ice season, it was a bang-up way to finish it. Our final two routes, Tendonitis and Arm & Hammer, were new to me (Steve had done them on his second day ever ice climbing), our first one new to Steve, so we had a great time with great conditions discovering new terrain to smile about and hopefully, come back to next season.

]]>http://blog.mtnsideadventures.com/2017/02/28/two-visits-to-pitchoff-north/feed/0Premature Expectationshttp://blog.mtnsideadventures.com/2017/02/19/premature-expectations/
http://blog.mtnsideadventures.com/2017/02/19/premature-expectations/#respondSun, 19 Feb 2017 16:44:52 +0000http://blog.mtnsideadventures.com/?p=1713Saturday morning, the sun shone unhindered from a cloudless bluebird sky. I packed my regular winter gear, but stuffed a pair of rock shoes in as well, thinking to break trail to the Jammer Wall. We’ve had a lot of snow over the last three weeks, gradually building from a few crusty old inches left from January to over a foot and a half on the ground. I knew the trek would be difficult, but this sudden warmth made me too antsy to sit around. Shortly after 9a, I was on my way.

Looking up at the Animal Charm Wall in February 2017

It may be early yet.

Low along the East Path in February 2017

The initial hike runs along the base of the mountain, and since I’ve already run this once or twice, snowshoeing through it was only moderately difficult. As the East Path turns up toward the Measles Walls, I still had pre-trampled passage, but the angle made things more aerobic. Soon, I stood at the LMW, perusing ice options there. While they probably were still negotiable, the onset of warmth and sunshine yesterday took a quick toll on them. I snapped a picture or two, but passed on climbing anything. A few minutes later and a bit higher, I did switch to ice gear to climb the one feasible line on the UMW, the swath that clings to the dimpled surface right of Cabin Fever and left of El Muerte Rojo. It was clearly suffering from “bakage”, but sounded only slightly hollowed as I easily thwunked my way to the sloping ledge 25’ up, then shifted left slightly to down-climb the same formation.

LMW Ice in the morning

That would be all the ice I would climb that day. From the Measles Walls, I continued along the faint remains of the trail I’d broken a week ago. The sun was beginning to make itself felt; wherever the snow lay at an angle perpendicular to it, it stuck to my snowshoes, clumping as it tumbled down the slopes. A thin crust lay 7” beneath the surface, sometimes stopping my footfall, other times trapping a shoe deep underneath; but overall I had little trouble making progress.

Quite steep going to the Upper Walls

Until, that is, I reached the juncture with the Upper Walls path. I turned off there, which meant leaving any trace of pre-packed trail, as well as an increase in angle, which made the going very difficult. But the sun made the woods so lovely I did not mind the work. I just took my time, resting as needed, plodding slowly and meticulously forward. At the corner of the Blueberry Ledges, the slough-off from them created an eight-foot sloping wall of snow. Somewhere under it lay the actual path, so I had to one-shoe stomp my way through that fortification.

Crane Mountain’s Amendment Wall

Breaking through that barrier, I came in sight of the Amendment Wall. I would do no climbing up these 5.10 friction routes: both wore dark water streamers coursing down their lengths. While dry patches promised hope for the middle of the week, I had to keep slogging if I were going to find any dry rock.

Selfie low on On the Fence

Below the last route on this wall, On the Fence, I looked up. It too had a lot of wet tracking down it, as well as plenty of ice in the ramp; but I thought I might manage its mild grade. I was able to snowshoe up what would normally be an impossible dirty rock slab to reach the base of the route, where I removed my pack and readied to do some “real” climbing. I opted to begin in my hiking boots, as things were snowy on all the ledges down low.

The ramp of On the Fence

The ice in the corner of the ramp required some deft kicking and occasional clawing-out to make progress, but soon I stood on the ledge beneath the “real” stuff, the cracks leading up to the top. Here, I deemed it time to switch footwear.

Time to change footwear

The rest of the route went as usual, even though the cracks were icy and near the top the rock was striped with meltwater rivulets. Topping out was perhaps the hardest part of the climb, as a layer of wet snow over a crust of ice made the going treacherous. Fortunately, the crust was not so thick I couldn’t easily kick steps up to the lonely belay tree.

Looking south from near the top of the route On the Fence

I’d dragged a rope with me to make the descents, which was a very good thing: down-climbing would have been terrifying. With the comfort of that rope, I could look around and enjoy the scenery. And what a view it was! This is the sort of day that makes climbing not just exciting and physically challenging, but also akin to a walk along God’s Art Gallery. Stunning, stellar, every superlative in the book.

Another Selfie, this from the top of On the Fence

After gawking at the scenery, I took time for one more selfie before descending. While on rappel, I mused over my options. The surrounding rock was a mix of not-so wet and way-too wet; I would have to inspect any other routes I hoped to climb, and hope to spot any trouble before getting in too far to escape.

Looking over at Stand Your Ground. Dry enough to climb?

Changing back into boots at the midway ledge, I post-holed over to look at Stand Your Ground. Like my first route, the crack in this one was stuffed with snow and ice near the bottom. But I know that section or rock can be climbed without the crack; plentiful face holds to either side make it easy. So I pulled my rope, made the final tromp over to its base, kicked steps up what would normally be the first ten feet of climbing, then stomped another ledge for shoe-changing.

Stymied by ice and snow near the top of Stand Your Ground

Along the crack, I had no problem; but where it abruptly ends, trickles of water were running down among and around the crux holds. I had to concentrate on these moves, but with good focus and care, I continued climbing. I reached the second bolt, well past the crux, but here I was stopped cold. Literally: the ledge five feet above it was covered in ice and snow, at an angle that perfectly matched the slab above it. I might be able to punch or kick holds in it, but with the wet footholds, any slip would send me 85′ to the base of the route and likely much farther, as my buffeted body would slide down the snow slope, off the short cliff below, and in all probability continue that trend to the base of the Provando Wall 200′ beneath me. Not a good image. I clipped a carabiner to the upper protection bolt, spent awhile playing narcissistic photographer, then retreated on the rope.

Looking straight down Stand Your Ground from the top bolt

Looking northeast from the top of Stand Your Ground

A view into the ravine below Stand Your Ground

One more selfie from Stand Your Ground

I thought I might be done now, but slogging over to the base of Provando’s third pitch, I decided to sneak one more in the list. I wore hiking boots to the midway ledge, then changed into klettershue to climb the finishing face. This time the top-out was dry enough to complete – good thing, since there are no protection bolts on this route – so I soon stood on the large ledge, looking out at another grand view.

Final Selfie of the day, from the top of Provando

One thing I noted while hanging out on the cliffs today: a large ice flow hangs high above the Amendment Wall. Last May, Steve and Tom came up to climb on that wall, but decided to warm up on the Jammer Wall first. Moments after their decision, tons of ice came tumbling down, smashing into and past the base of Amendment Wall had they been there, they would have died. This is something to keep in mind for those of us who climb here in the early season.

A few tons of ice hanging above the Amendment Wall

Finally, I felt like I had enough rock for one day. It was then I realized I’d left my hiking boots on the midway ledge. It was a stimulating descent in climbing shoes to get back there, where I thankfully swapped footwear one more time, glissaded the rest of the way to my rope, which still hung off the bolt of Stand Your Ground.

It was in some ways a more difficult exit than entrance. The snow was by now very heavy, and clung to my snowshoes. An attempt at walking with just hiking boots led to several hip-deep plunges and was quickly aborted. I did, however, manage to break trail for a short way farther along the East Path before turning about and heading to the car.

Thinner and looser than it was on my first pass this morning!

I stopped only to take a picture of the ice flow on the LMW I’d looked at earlier; it was now an anemic, bedraggled whisper of what it once was. With the forecast calling for an entire week of warm weather, this may herald the end of southern Adirondack ice climbing.

Almost ten years ago, Nathan and I hiked up Crane Mountain in a snowstorm. With a wild nor’easter ripping around the mountain on his birthday, this seemed like a good weekend to reenact that adventure.

Nathan heads up Ski Hi Road

A lot of water has passed under the bridge since that day. Nathan is now a full-grown adult, pastoring at our church. Having grown up, gone away to college, and returned to this wilderness region, he loves the outdoors. He is also reaching the age where exercise and active lifestyle become more important than ever, and has been consciously seeking ways to keep in shape. I’ve fared a bit less well, having gone through a short litany of ailments, two surgical repairs, and unavoidable age-related deterioration. But I’m still kicking, and willing to take a good, spank-butt trek once in awhile.

Looking back at our car’s high point.

Sunday brought real winter weather to the Adirondacks, and since church services were shortened, it was Nathan’s birthday, and that storm reminded us both of that past trek, we decided to head up for another go. Shortly past noon, we’d gained as much elevation as we could in the comfort of a car, parked it as best we could, and begun walking up Ski Hi Road. Snow fell hard enough to limit visibility to a couple hundred yards, but the road lies on the sheltered side of Crane Mountain, so we were fairly comfortable as we ascended the steep road toward the trail.

As we left the main road, the snow depth increased, making our decision to forego snowshoes questionable. It wasn’t bad at the moment, but with the heavy snowfall surrounding us, we wondered what it would be like when we returned. Still, both of us felt snowshoes would be detrimental for much of the hike, as they don’t help on the steep sections, which means most of Crane Mountain’s trail.

We passed the trailhead parking lot, signed in to the register, and began the ascent proper. Soon, one oversight was clear: we’d both neglected to bring traction devices. I was carrying a mountaineer’s axe, which certainly helped in a few spots, though it was a “cheapy”, with a slippery handle, so it wasn’t as much help as it could have been. We were quickly covered in snow from slipping and clutching to claw our way up the ice-covered trail.

Nathan heads toward the lemon squeeze section of trail

After a lot of wrestling and resting, we passed the spur running off toward the pond, meaning just a bit more steep before reaching the gentle slope along the base of the summit ridge. While the snow was a lot deeper at this elevation, we still felt snowshoes would have been more trouble than help.

Nathan at the Little Ladder

The short walk from the lemon squeeze portion of the trail to the little ladder was slick, but a good crust between the real ice and the air allowed us to kick steps quickly and efficiently. Past this ladder, we expected a gentle rise to the final hurdle getting up the summit ridge cliff.

The trail is choked by ice-encrusted branches and shrubs

We were in for a surprise. While the angle is easy, the ice storms that have hit our region left a lasting legacy up high on Crane Mountain. The trail is practically walled off by shrubs and trees bowed low with ice-encrusted limbs. At first it looked impossible to go on, but it really wasn’t all that difficult, pushing and hacking our way through this section of the trail. The wind, which had been bad as we crested the steepest part of the trail lower down (by the Viewpoint Cliff), was almost nonexistent here; we were sheltered in the hollow lying between the true and false summit ridges.

Looking up at the summit ridge cliffs above the trail

Looking up, we glimpsed the cliffs above us, barely visible in the wind and snowfall. We could tell the wind was howling up there, but that was to be expected. What we didn’t see, but should have guessed, would soon confront us.

Reaching the last level patch of trail before the big ladder, we turned off to the east, hoping to reenact our previous ascent route: the Access Slot. This is a fourth-class rock route in warmer times, so in winter it is an exciting choice to tackle. Little did we know it would tax our ability to succeed today. As we reached the base of the route, a twenty-foot tall snow cone came into view. The usual scramble up a gully through a screen of trees lay underneath it.

We slogged and swam our way up the cone, lurching for trees at the apex where it was too steep, and too icy underneath, to find purchase. Breaking through the first barrier of branches, we looked up the line of balsam scrub above our heads. After contemplating that path for a moment, I realized it was not our route of choice, and that the line of living shrubs petered out to a final series of dead limbs on near-vertical terrain. Noting the thick coating of ice covering virtually every surface around us, this would not do.

The traverse point of the Access Slot Route

The actual route requires a traverse around the Five Small Stones buttress. That appeared impossibly iced over, but a few experimental kicks revealed that, under the 5/8″ frozen armor and some old snow, lay relatively clear and level foot holds. With my axe questionably engaged in the icy shell on the rock overhead, I committed to the sideways moves. This went easily enough, and soon both Nathan and I stood below the final ascent line, another column of diminutive balsam shrubs on a slightly shorter, milder-angled corner.

Nathan at the crux

That was, to put it mildly, an interesting pitch. The saplings we used were most fully buried under snow and ice; the rock to either side impossibly cloaked in a poorly-bonded, impossibly slippery covering. For awhile, I was stymied, unable to make it up past the crux of the route, a four-foot steep bit with no viable vegetation to grapple. Finally, I whacked at a small ledge, breaking the ice covering it, and found to my joy dry rock! This proved to be the one foothold I needed to make it to higher saplings. With my axe in yet another questionable pick hole, I made the high step and reached for an anemic balsam trunk, all of perhaps 1″ in diameter. It was enough, I clawed my way higher, to better plant holds, swung my axe to smash the thick ice on the large ledge above me, and crawled to safety.

Nathan nears the top of the Access Slot. Note: this links to a larger version of the image.

Nathan worked his way with as much difficulty to follow the route and join me on our little notch. We weren’t done: the final steep point was equally drenched in snow and frozen armor. But it is thankfully short, and a brutish mantle, assisted by one more tenuous axe placement, saw us onto the penultimate shelf below the top of the cliff. It was a miserable place to regroup, as the wind now buffeted us so badly I feared my eyeballs would freeze. In fact, my cheeks and nose had suffered badly just making that last move. We were amazed at how much worse it was here than a mere six feet below.

Nathan crawls to safety at the top of the Access Slot

We were still not on top. There is a tiny step up and right to reach the summit plateau, usually a bit of nothing to negotiate, utterly forgettable. Not today: with the ubiquitous icy armor, I had to hack the footholds clean, swing a good pick-stick into thick, horizontal ice, and drag myself on hands and knees up and onto the level skating rink that best describes the relative safety in that place. Nathan, using the same tactic, followed close behind me.

The Prow where the climbing route Rock of Ages lies

Finally, we were past the worst of it, though now we stood precariously on thick ice, as every exposed outcrop was completely covered, and the level patches had accumulated enough of the stuff to support our weight.

Ice Coated Trees by the Prow

A violent wind tore at the trees around us. These were all covered in inches-thick ice, weighed down in a crystal carapace that made their gyrations them look more like drunken trolls nodding than windblown trees.

Nathan prepares to leave the prows

Without a lot of tarrying to look around, Nathan led away from the brutally-exposed prows, kicking steps to gain ground anywhere the terrain was anything but level. Once we left the exposed rocky ridge, snow cover – no longer blown off by the wind – made the going much easier. We ambled along the narrow herd path meandering through the woods toward the mountain’s true summit.

More ice-cloaked trees

There, we surveyed more ice-encrusted trees surrounding us, noted the wind, while still with us, was a lot less violent here than at the prows, and glanced down the precipice at the trail where we would soon be exiting ourselves. No distant views were to be had, so after a moment, we headed for the descent.

Nathan at the summit.

It was a long series of butt-slides and snow-slogging downward to safety and civilization. This time at least, we had plenty of daylight in which to conclude our adventure. I wondered, as we reached the safety of our car, if I would be capable of doing this again in another ten years.

Thus spake the master; and he is write, er, right. The ice along the Tirrell Pond trail listed in Blue Lines 2 won’t, and shouldn’t, draw a crowd. But for two intrepid ice-scratchers, it did provide a pleasant amount of climbing surrounded by an even more pleasant forest setting.

Jason has a limited schedule for climbing these days, so when a long weekend lay ahead, we made plans to climb together, his call on the venue. Wanting to avoid the crush in the traditional haunts, and somewhat limited by the rash of warm spells we’ve had this winter, he settled on a snowshoe hike to this locale.

Jason treks by one of many large boulders in the vicinity of the Blue Mountain Ice Flow

The trail is certainly easy enough, and the ice is easy to locate. As the trail enters a private inholding, plentiful signs announce the fact. The trail turns into the private land, running along a small cliff, the last vestige of a long, steep ridge running to the west of the trail; at this point, head west along the base of the ridge for perhaps a hundred yards.

Jason, already most of the way up the Blue Mountain Ice Flow

Jason tied in to the sharp end and led the route, which given its immense height (sixty feet is probably exaggeration), extreme steepness (one might imagine a grade 4 line in really, really fat conditions), and its current state (somewhat mushy, given the 45°F temps), his was a courageous undertaking, handsomely executed.

There is a little potential for other ice climbing near the flow, these being two short, but good-looking options

In all seriousness, we had a good time. The flow is wide enough to climb at least 3 distinct paths, and in better conditions probably is more challenging. Yes, the flow itself is no reason to make the trip, but the trail is interesting, the forest surrounding the area is relatively open, and dotted liberally with large boulders.

Jason is 6’6″ tall, so this is not a little boulder!

We walked farther west along the base of the ridge and saw short ice flows that, if not for the warm conditions that day, might have made a full day of climbing. There is a break in the ridge about 100m beyond the standard ice flow, at the top of which appear to be two fifty foot grade 2s, and farther along we spotted a couple narrow, fat strips of ice on steep rock. Here and there may be interesting mixed lines to attempt someday.

The woods at the base of the ridge is full of beech trees with advanced blight wounds, all dead or dying.

Hoffman Notch harbors a lot of ice. Outside of the traditional venues around Keene Valley and Lake Placid, this is probably the best climbing locale in the Park, with a lot of different flows to climb, a wide range of difficulty and style, and almost-guaranteed solitude. Other than the occasional skier passing by, a climbing party here will probably meet no one else.

The approach explains the lack of crowding: it is relatively long, two to two and a half miles; so the majority of ice-seekers will congregate elsewhere. But the trail leading in is easy and the time it takes – about an hour – passes quickly. It first enters a conifer woodlot, descends to cross the Branch, meanders through a sparsely-wooded floodplain, then heads into and up Hoffman Notch itself. The ascent is very gentle, with occasional gullies to cross or blowdown to circumvent; but nothing greatly hinders snowshoes and stout trekking poles. It would indeed make a great ski-through trip but for those obstacles.

The first ice reached when coming from the north is known as the Tractor Wall, named for the derelict vehicle of unknown affinity alongside the trail just before coming in sight of the ice (note: this is not a farm tractor sort of thing, but a treaded vehicle, more like the undercarriage of a small tank). There are intermittent ice flows within sight of the trail for another ten minutes or so up the trail, until the final nearby flow, the expansive Trailside Wall comes into view. Past this, the Notch opens up, the slopes to either side are more distant, and they appear less steep. There is ice on a cliff sloping up and away from the trail, a continuation of the Trailside Wall, but few go there, as it is a long, uphill slog.

Steve O. had been into the Notch the weekend before, when he had sampled several of the Tractor Wall ice routes. After mentioning the size and quality of the Trailside Wall, he took me up on heading back there this weekend to climb at that crag.

Steve, Tom L., and I met at a reasonably early hour, and before 930a we were heading to exit 29. Turning west on Blue Ridge Road, we drove the few miles to the trailhead, passing a Buffalo farm and several hunting club driveways as we did so. The trailhead lies on the west side of a small bridge; to our surprise, it was not plowed. However, directly across the street was a plowed parking area, with a sign for (I think) Ragged Mountain Gun Club. We saw no posted signs in the parking lot, nor any “no parking” signs; I believe this may be part of the recent State acquisition of land on the north side of the road, though the hunting club itself appears to be still active. In any case, it was the only viable option: there is a lot of snow on the ground, and a three-foot mound of plowed snow blocks access to the south side parking area.

Packing up at the parking lot

We took our chances, parking the car in the lot and crossing the road to head south on the trail. Tom had come to sample the skiing potential of the route, and was soon well out ahead of the two ice climbers. We would lose sight of him shortly after reaching the flood basin, but would catch up as those gullies and blowdowns slowed his progress.

The three of us kept about the same pace for the rest of the approach; Tom hampered by the trees and branches and gullies enough for Steve and I to easily keep pace. We passed the closest ice, followed the trail through a narrow spot with the brook tight to our left, and a short boulder-choke where Tom had to remove his skis. Just above this, we had a good look at our destination.

After watching us gear up, Tom decided to ski onward, hoping to reach the south end of the trail with enough time to meet us again for the hike out. Steve and I picked our lines, and I opted to start off. Officially, there are two routes on the main ice flow, Cinnabun and Rejects and Beggars; but the flow lends itself to a plethora of options. The ice is broken vertically into a short beginning stretch, a grade 1 midsection for about fifty feet, and a final steep headwall of fifty or sixty feet. The bottom ranges between grade two if one runs up a notch on the extreme left, through to easy grade 4 if one tackles the longest, steepest initial ice in the middle. I chose a slightly easier crease up the steepest ice, perhaps nicking into grade 4 slightly, but if so, barely so. Still, it was certainly a wake-up call; though I suffered the Screaming Barfies in my fingers after leading this, I had plenty of adrenaline to carry me warmly through the upper part. This was admittedly easier, though still a solid grade 3. I’d chosen to take the rightmost section of the main flow, which worked up to a notch filled with mineral-stained golden ice, the top-out of Rejects and Beggars.

Steve heads for the start of the first ice climb. He is 200′ below.

After Steve cleaned the sixty-meter pitch, we rappelled down, which required a bit of creativity on our part. The top is sprinkled liberally with rap-tat from previous parties, most of it in good shape; but the low-angle section at mid-height is devoid of usable trees or anchors. I’d left my V-thread implements at the bottom, and didn’t want to spend time hacking an ice bollard, so we swung around the ropes until reaching good cedars on climber’s left of the flow to make the last fifty feet to easy ground.

Steve has just finished the steepest part, and is heading up easy stuff to the last headwall

Without much rest, Steve geared up and took a rising traverse, starting on the right, running diagonally through the easy midsection, and finishing on the leftmost obvious option, creating an excellent grade 3 run using the Cinnabun top-out.

Steve starts out on his lead

When I joined Steve at the top, we decided to continue up the drainage to see what was there. The answer: not much. It’s a pleasant grade 1 ramble upward, with some grade 2 options along the way, but the ice quickly succumbs to snow cover and low-angle woods. We ran one entire 70m rope length before turning around.

Looking north from the side of the Trailside Ice Wall

At the base, we packed up and began heading out by 4p. Tom had already passed by, having experienced “catastrophic equipment failure” – one of his ski boots soles completely detached from the shoe. With one ski and one truly slippery slipper, he had wisely elected to head out without waiting for us. Steve and I made the trek outward, rediscovering as I always do that trails stretch through the day. This one trail in particular seems to grow momentously; I’d swear it was twice as far going out as it was going in.

]]>http://blog.mtnsideadventures.com/2017/02/06/hoffman-notch-ice-climbing-trip-2017/feed/0Updateshttp://blog.mtnsideadventures.com/2017/01/03/updates/
http://blog.mtnsideadventures.com/2017/01/03/updates/#respondTue, 03 Jan 2017 16:56:32 +0000http://blog.mtnsideadventures.com/?p=1548I’m working on recovering the website, updating the guide page, and in general, fixing things that have been broken for a long time.
Note first of all, the change in address; if you’re reading this after a Google search, the new URL refers to what is now my only domain, mtnsideadventures.com – I’ve let all the others go, as they were doing nothing worthwhile any longer. So if you or someone you know is still looking at mtnsideview, look no more.

Secondly, I’m reviewing website editing software for managing my guide pages. So far, I’ve found nothing that really fits my desires. I’ve considered switching entirely over to a WordPress-managed structure, but for various reasons, this doesn’t satisfy. If you know of a software solution that: keeps it simple, uses straightforward HTML, is cheap, and can be run without an Internet connection (so I can edit offline and upload later), and doesn’t use a lot of bandwidth – specifically no broadband connection required – I’m interested.

Thirdly, I still climb, a lot. I’ve slowed down a bit since the heydays of 2008 – 2012, for various reasons, but I still get out frequently. I plan to use this blog to keep track of those excursions, as well as other, less vertical, activities.

As always, if you put in comments, let me know (email me if you know). Otherwise, they may not get posted.

]]>http://blog.mtnsideadventures.com/2017/01/03/updates/feed/0A Day on Coneyhttp://blog.mtnsideadventures.com/2016/07/05/a-day-on-coney/
http://blog.mtnsideadventures.com/2016/07/05/a-day-on-coney/#respondTue, 05 Jul 2016 15:03:53 +0000http://blog.mtnsideview.com/?p=1538Ra and I spent the Fourth of July wandering off-trail on Coney Mountain. Robin and I discovered this little mountain’s incredible scenery a couple years ago, and I’ve since brought some climbing buddies to explore its technical potential. We’ve been up the mountain this year already, hiking to the top with one of our daughters on a cloud-shrouded, damp day. This day’s foray was in some ways a make-up for our weather-blocked plans of that day, and also another stab at finding decent rock climbing there.

Robin making her way up pitch one of our Independence Day Route.

What we found reinforces our overall perception of Coney for rock climbing: don’t expect a lot. From a distance, the mountain’s flanks do look appealing. They turn out to be heavily vegetated, dirty, and low-angled. All this negativity however, is undeserved. Come with an attitude of adventure, the right equipment, and expectations more in tune with the character of the place, and Coney offers a delightful day out.

Being a holiday, the trailhead parking lot was filled, with a dozen cars overspilled on the side of Route 30. We added ours to the roadside and began by hiking up the trail, which spirals up and around Coney for about a mile before reaching the top. We broke off after less than ten minutes, bushwhacking up a moderate slope. I’d done a similar off-trail excursion during our earlier visit, and seen a steep-looking cliff off to my left, so we headed that way, hoping to find it.

Ra suits up at the base of the slab.

The current heat wave made it a sweaty endeavor as the angle and brush density increased, but within fifteen minutes, we’d sighted our destination. This looked better than the slab I’d found with my climbing partners a couple years ago: steeper, larger, and taller. It was however, plenty dirty. I could see, about 50m to our right, a line of pines that looked like the ones I’d slithered up in the wetness several weeks earlier, so I’m pretty sure this was the slab I’d seen then.

I led out, clipping the rope to a high tree branch in order to keep it off the shingles of loose rock lying near the start of our route. Down low, the slab was carpeted in moss and lichen; I opted to clamber up a dirty groove rather than ply the unprotectable low end of it. Moving up and trending rightward, I crossed a screen of brush to a left-facing corner, plugged in a cam, and followed the corner upward. At almost any point, I could’ve escaped to one side or the other, but being dry, the lichen-encrusted rock was secure enough to stay on it, and following left-facing corners and flakes, I had ample opportunity to place gear.

Robin finishes our climb at the wooden cross that lies a short way below the summit.

I had to run the rope to its end, reaching a good-size spruce at nearly 60m. Robin came up without much difficulty, even with a light pack. She led the last 20m, ending up at the large wooden cross that stands within view of Route 30 to the north.

At the top of our route, with a view to the north toward Tupper Lake.

What Coney truly offers is a magnificent view for a very minor investment of effort, and Robin and I took plenty of time to enjoy the transaction. There are plenty of easy summits in the Adirondacks, but I’ve not seen one with a matching panorama. I had to descend to grab my pack and other gear left below, while Ra walked to the summit.

Mini Panorama links to a larger image.

Once I got back down to the bottom, I decided to climb up a different way. The slab to the left of our line appeared a bit more open and clean, and I found it easy enough to solo with my almost-empty pack on, but I did keep the klettershues on my feet. I would estimate both lines clock in around 5.2 or 5.3; a little harder than earlier climbs I’d done here.

These two routes join the two that Tom, Mike P., and I did a couple years ago. None of them warrant a trip to Coney for its climbing quality; rather, these offer an alternative route to the top for those capable of either soloing unkempt slabs or carrying in a light rope and rack in order to have a bit of adventure on an otherwise subdued little mountain. Come expecting a small quantity of adventure and you will have a great day.

Cropped View of the High Peaks from the summit

]]>http://blog.mtnsideadventures.com/2016/07/05/a-day-on-coney/feed/0Moxham Recon IIhttp://blog.mtnsideadventures.com/2016/05/06/moxham-recon-ii/
http://blog.mtnsideadventures.com/2016/05/06/moxham-recon-ii/#respondFri, 06 May 2016 16:04:41 +0000http://blog.mtnsideview.com/?p=1504Back again, and soon. Despite the long approach, we returned to Moxham Mountain for another climbing reconnaissance.

Mr. Hazard hanging out at the Lower Slab of Moxham Mountain

With the local schools’ spring break fast coming to an end, we’ve been pounding it hard the entire week, searching out some of the places spied by digital satellite before the leaves occlude the view and the blackflies intrude on our blood supply. Two mountains have vied for and dominated our attention this year, one of them being Moxham Mountain. If the last post was missed, the facts are these: 2.5 mile approach over a new, excellent trail, with two main climbing areas near the end of the trail. The Summit Dome lies at the end, and runs between 200 and 300′ in length, most of it easy to moderate slab climbing, with some interesting steep slabs and overlaps. A quarter mile closer and 200′ or so lower, the Lower Slabs run from 50 to 150 feet tall. On the first Saturday of spring break, six intrepid climbers made the hike, and then top-belayed two routes on each of these crags.

Two of the four participants looking for plausible climbing lines

A party of four managed an early start on the last Friday of April, meeting in North Creek and reaching the trailhead by 9am. Three of us, however, were running on reserves, having worked overly much on projects elsewhere during the week. We were none of us certain how long we could be productive.

Mike H scrubbing on his project

But we went at it with gusto. Mike H. stuck with his original line; Mike P., Tom L., & I opted to look around a bit instead of tackling last weekend’s item. Once again we had three ropes, two dynamic and 100′ of static. I’d chosen to look around in part because I’d also chosen to grab the short static rope, and soon settled on a plausible crack line of modest difficulty. Mike P. and Tom wandered farther along the Lower Slab, eventually finding an overhang that lured Tom into its maw.

Mike H. fell into the classic trap of double vision, seeing multiple possibilities on either side of his chosen project. He worked diligently, striving to clean at least two separate lines as he descended. I was close to doing the same, as this Lower Slab is so riddled with enticing crack lines that it is difficult to concentrate solely on one route.

Tom scoping out the terrain above his awesome overhang, with Crane Mountain in view on the horizon

Meanwhile, Tom and Mike P. had run into some technical difficulties… well, one technical difficulty: an overhang that registers in at nearly 5.11. None of us are currently up to that ability, especially on-sighting; even on a top-rope. Their efforts would essentially stall (though Tom did manage to work out the moves) and their search would disintegrate through sheer fatigue.

I’d reached an arguably-sufficient starting point for my line by this time, a sloping ledge sparsely supplied with middling oak trees, and made the call for a belay. This would thoroughly complicate an otherwise clever equipment and manpower division, as I had to grab the dynamic rope Mike P. and Tom had been using and kidnap Mike P for the belay, leaving Tom to fend for himself in the quest for a feasible project.

Wild cloud formations and other off-topic topics in the middle of a climbing blog post

But such are the vagaries of pioneer work. I tied in, collected something akin to a rack, and climbed my line while Mike P. belayed. I quickly found the crux of it, a traverse connecting the starting crack line with the finishing one. It wasn’t truly hard, but quite committing, and as usual, I’d not cleaned enough to be casual.

I’ve on-sighted a lot of routes, and done a lot of top-down, pre-cleaning as well. Unless one does a very thorough job of cleaning, it’s a toss-up as to which makes for the sketchier send. On-sighting requires a deft eye for what can be removed, where, to make the climb possible, without messing up the holds where one’s feet are struggling to stick. On the other hand, cleaning always makes a mess, one that may not be obvious until tying in to the sharp end. Often, a thin coat of minute dirt and sand grains makes every hold suspect, and requires a lot of lung capacity to secure passage. Generally, the best system is to clean as thoroughly as possible, then give the route a few days, preferably with some soaking rain to wash off that slippery dust, before attempting the send. Obviously, that sort of procedure requires both available time and patience. These are not common climber attributes.

Looking up the start of “pitch 2” of my route. It jogs right at the end of the lower crack, climbing through the small overhang to reach another crack

Regardless of the difficulties, the line I climbed is perhaps 5.6, with its crux at that key traverse. By now, the rain we’ve had over the past week has probably tamed it down a bit, perhaps enough to peg it at 5.5, but we’ll have to wait and see.

When Mike P. arrived at the top, having seconded my route, things began to fall apart rapidly. He was exhausted. After resting on the top for a half hour, Mike decided to pack up and head home. Looking over the group’s resources, we figured that would be fine; but ten minutes after he began trotting down the trail, Tom realized his essentials – including his car keys – were in Mike’s truck. He decided to race out after him, and suddenly our party was down to two. And I was in none too energetic a state myself. Mike H. was nearly done with his line, though, so I decided to rest while he finished up.

While scrubbing, I found this intriguing hole in the cliff. Inside, it is nearly circular, and goes back over a foot into the rock.

We had been joined by another party, actually, a quite large one, but in this case clearly not welcome: black flies. One of the spurs to Mike H’s exodus was the onslaught of these pests, as they made resting anywhere impossible. While the top of the slab offered some refuge in the form of a frequent strong breeze that kept the bugs at bay, the base of the cliff was quickly becoming uninhabitable. After a brief attempt at covering and cloaking myself from them, I chose motion as my best means of defense.

My line ended on the left edge of a ledge 40′ above the base of the cliff. I noticed that a decent crack line led directly up to my route’s starting point, starting above an open book on an easy slab, running through an overhang and bulge before topping out in a clump of striped maple. I decided to see about climbing this while Mike H finished up. That went well enough. After moving into the open book from the right, the crack offers bomber hand holds all the way through to the tree clump, so I reckon my route (whatever I eventually name it) now has a first pitch – though be forewarned, it has had not-quite-zero cleaning.

Mike H begins his first Moxham FA.

Mike H. was ready by the time I’d finished fiddling around, so we pulled the remaining dynamic line and he tied in. Coiffed in long sleeves, long pants, safety glasses, gloves, and bug hat, I belayed.

Commenting once in awhile on things he wished he had cleaned a little better, Mike regardless made sure and steady progress upward. The route follows attractive crack lines up through the initial steep crack, which is the crux, passes one thinly-protected gap, where fortunately the climbing is not difficult, then finishes in another fine system of cracks.

Moving through the midpoint of Mike H’s route

Following the route, I found it very good, a three-star route in the Adirondack quality classification scheme. I too wished for a few cleaner spots, but that is the way of the game. Future climbers should be prepared for a little wilderness scrubbing if they climb here.

One last look up at the Summit Dome before we go home.

We had daylight left, but not much; nor did we have the energy to force another line. I already shuddered at the thought of the march out, but knew we had to do it. We rappelled a steep gully Mike P. had discovered – the least technical means to reach the bottom – packed the rest of our gear, and trudged out, inspecting the cliff bottom as we bushwhacked to rejoin the trail. Neither of us saw anything on the cliff to climber’s left of the area we’ve already climbed on that looked good for climbing.

With Spring Break over, Black Fly Season in full swing, and the usual busy days of May upon us, it may be some time before we return to Moxham Mountain. But if the legs are willing, it’s a sure bet we will return.

Gore Mountain from the Lower Slabs

As always, if you wish to comment on this post, please email me first, else your comment may get lost in the ubiquitous spam of modern blogging. – JH